


Being Sick Sucks

by faeryn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, and demanding, crowley has the flu, he is melodramatic, mostly human crowley, mothering sam, sick crowley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-03
Updated: 2014-03-03
Packaged: 2018-01-14 09:43:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1261714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faeryn/pseuds/faeryn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for <a href="http://snewts.tumblr.com">snewts</a> on Tumblr who <a href="http://snewts.tumblr.com/post/78249062145">requested</a> a sick!Crowley fic to help them feel better. </p><p>Tags say it all really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Being Sick Sucks

They had been poring over the same books for days, Sam sleeping more often in an armchair in the library than in his own bed. Crowley, who had insisted his extensive knowledge of languages would be helpful, rarely slept anyway so morning usually found Sam quietly snoring, covered in a blanket while Crowley flipped through whatever tome he’d dropped to his chest before dozing off.

“You’re going to make yourself ill, Moose,” Crowley remarked one morning as Sam jerked awake, blinking owlishly in the bright light as he tried to remember where he was. 

“Shut up,” he growled and stalked into the kitchen to make coffee. Crowley huffed but stayed silent as Sam returned, placing a mug down in front of the Englishman. “You’re mostly human now, right? You should worry about yourself.” 

“I’m fine,” he snapped, snatching up the coffee and taking a long sip then swearing as his tongue burned.

“Getting more human by the day, I’d say,” Sam remarked, leaning on the table and looking down at the notes Crowley had been making.

“And whose bloody fault is that?” 

Sam shrugged but said nothing, picking up the notebook and scanning it for any new information. The former king of Hell took another, more tentative, sip of his coffee and then almost choked as he breathed in too quickly, sneezing violently and just barely managing to avoid spraying the priceless books with coffee. Sam raised an eyebrow at him then frowned and dropped the notebook back on the table. 

“You okay?” he asked quietly.

“I told you, I’m fine,” Crowley’s voice was harsh but Sam had been around his stubborn brother for too long to be fooled. 

Sam put his hand on Crowley’s forehead before he could protest and the ex-demon opened his mouth to argue but then his eyes fluttered closed and all he let out was a quiet, grateful ‘oh’ as Sam’s cool fingers pressed to his fevered skin. 

“Yep, thought as much. _You’re_ sick, c’mon let’s get you to bed,” Sam stood up and removed his hand, to Crowley’s dismay and hauled the shorter man to his feet.

“I’m not bloody sick, I’m a bloody demon, I don’t get bloody sick, piss off Moose I’m fine,” he grumbled irritably, but let Sam herd him through the bunker and into his bedroom. 

Gently, Sam pushed Crowley down to the bed and quickly helped him peel off his sweat-soaked clothes, feeling bad for not noticing the man’s fever sooner. Once Crowley - protesting all the while - was down to his undershirt and boxers, Sam helped him get under the blanket on the bed and then hurried through to the bathroom to get a damp cloth. Returning quickly he folded it up and placed it gently on Crowley’s burning forehead, drawing another relieved sound from the man. 

“You’re not a demon anymore, Crowley, and you’re definitely sick. Get some sleep, I’ll bring you some food later,” Sam said softly, flipping the cloth so the cool side would face down again, but Crowley was already drifting. 

 

The following morning Crowley was as bad-tempered as ever. Sam had woken him up the night before to help him eat a thick soup Dean had sworn would help him feel better, then quickly fallen back to sleep as his illness overtook him. Sam crept into his bedroom with a tray of breakfast he felt would be appropriate for his ailing companion; light buttermilk pancakes courtesy of a reluctant Dean, tea, coffee and a large glass of orange juice. 

“Crowley, time to wake up,” he said quietly, nudging the patient with one, bare, boatlike foot. Crowley groaned and threw his arm over his eyes in annoyance. 

“Piss off Moose, let me die in peace,” he grumbled and Sam just nudged him a few more times until he sat up and shuffled over so Sam could sit down beside him and place the tray in his lap. 

“Y’gotta eat,” Sam said, picking up the knife and fork and quickly cutting the pancakes into manageable wedges. 

“I can bloody feed myself you twat,” Crowley griped and Sam grinned, handing over the fork once he was finished cutting.

“I know you can, but I know how horrible it is to be sick, too. Someone’s gotta look out for ya,” he grinned and Crowley grumbled some more, but still devoured the pancakes like a starving man.

When he was finished Sam took away the tray and returned with some books and magazines for Crowley to read. 

“I, uh, I wasn’t sure what sorta thing you’d like so I just grabbed an assortment of whatever. If you tell me what you’d like I can get it for you,” he smiled, putting the items down on the nightstand as Crowley watched his every move.

“Why are you being so nice, Moose, what’s your angle?” Crowley frowned suspiciously.

“No angle, being sick sucks so I’m trying to make it as painless as possible for you.” 

Crowley made a disbelieving noise but otherwise stayed silent, rooting through the books until he found one that interested him. He sniffed loudly then coughed into his hand and groaned; he hadn’t been ill in _centuries_ , Sam wasn’t wrong when he said being sick sucks.

“If there’s anything I can get you…” 

“Dominion over Hell again so I don’t have to deal with human fucking illness, would be great darling, thanks.” Crowley didn’t look up from his book. 

Sam stood there for a moment or two, just looking at Crowley and trying to figure out if there was anything he could do that he wouldn’t _ask_ for. 

“Tea,” Crowley said suddenly, looking up. “I could murder a nice cuppa, think you can manage that Moose? I’d ask for whiskey but you boys wouldn’t know a decent Scotch if I hit you in the face with it.”

Sam nodded and left the room, just barely managing to contain the laugh that was threatening to bubble out. Crowley was a miserable, grouchy guy at the best of times but when he was trying to insult Sam when he was sitting in his underwear in Sam’s bed coughing up phlegm and going through tissues at a rate of knots it was hard to take the former demon seriously. Still, Sam couldn’t help feeling sorry for the guy.

When he returned twenty minutes later with a tray containing a pot of tea, a mug because they had no teacups, and a small plate of cookies (that Crowley insisted were called ‘biscuits’) he found Crowley nose deep in his book, sniffing loudly every few seconds before getting frustrated and wiping his nose on a tissue. 

“About time,” he said, snapping the book shut as Sam walked in. He let Sam pour him a cup of tea and took in a deep breath as he held the cup under his nose, enjoying the familiar fragrance. “Not bad, Moose, we’ll make a gentleman of you yet,” he murmured. 

Sam dragged a chair to the edge of the bed, hovering nearby like a mother hen as if Crowley would spill the scalding tea all over himself the instant Sam got too far away from him. Crowley rolled his eyes but surprisingly made no remark, sipping his tea gingerly and occasionally dipping a ‘biscuit’ into it with an odd daintiness. When he was finished Sam moved the tray off the bed, but not out of reach so he could pour more tea if Crowley wanted it, and settled back into his chair with a book of his own.

“What are you doing?” 

“Uh… reading?” Sam raised an eyebrow and folded one freakishly long leg across the other, resting the book on his knee.

“I mean all this _mothering_ , I expect it from Squirrel but you?”

Sam shifted uncomfortably in his seat and refused to meet Crowley’s gaze. “Look, you’re my responsibility, and you got sick because you were helping me with research, so I need to make sure you’re okay, alright?” 

An uncomfortable silence fell in the room, punctuated by occasional sniffs and coughs from the ailing Crowley. 

“I’m not okay,” he said eventually, “I’m going to die, I don’t want to die owing you anything.”

“Crowley you’ve got the ‘flu. You’re not dying. And you don’t owe me anything, okay? Now either read or sleep, but pick one.” 

Sam went back to his book and Crowley stared at him unashamedly. Eventually he tossed his own book aside and shuffled down under the covers, closing his eyes and sniffling incessantly. Sam leaned over and handed him a tissue, hardly even looking up from his book. Crowley groaned and moaned and whined under the blankets, huffing as his breath refused to catch and his eyes streamed from the constant tingle in his sinuses. 

“This sucks,” he said eventually, not caring how childish and weak it made him sound.

“Yeah, I know, but it’ll be over in a few days, a week at most. Till then just be comfy, okay?” 

“Okay… Sam?”

“Yeah?” 

“Thanks.”

“Go to sleep, Crowley.”

“Don’t leave me to die alone.” His voice was almost a whisper, afraid Sam would think less of him for the admission of his fear. 

“I’ll be here.” Sam promised.

Satisfied that he wasn’t going to wake up drowning in his own lungs, Crowley drifted off into a calm, dreamless sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> It's only short and not my best because I wrote it quickly and didn't want to end up overcomplicating it... I think it's a bit awkward but dammit I need diversity on my AO3 so I'm not just posting endless Destiel!!! 
> 
> Tell me how you feel on Tumblr! On my [main blog](http://faeryn.tumblr.com) or my [very quiet writing sideblog.](http://faerynfics.tumblr.com)


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